


Thrust

by orphan_account



Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 2 - Shakespeare, Henry V - Shakespeare, The King (2019)
Genre: AU where Hal and Hotspur are functional rivals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Crimes & Criminals, Multi, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 14:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21357688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I’ve always thought chronic heroic syndrome is built in someone’s DNA, that I should just accept that we all live up to our names. I think I do live up to my name, and that is a scary thought to have.Henry 'Hal' Lancaster doesn't want to follow the path of his family business in medicine, but to say that he doesn't like the taste of death would be a big lie. Modern AU based on The King (2019) cast, and for those characters who weren't in that movie, I'll leave the rest for your imagination to run wild
Relationships: Catherine of Valois/Henry V, Prince Hal (Shakespeare)/Edward "Ned" Poins, Prince Hal (Shakespeare)/Henry "Hotspur" Percy
Kudos: 2





	1. The Butterfly Effect

I’ve always thought chronic heroic syndrome is built in someone’s DNA. Blue blood sticks together; a son of police will become police himself; a daughter of a self-made multi-millionaire will run her own empire one day. Turns out, it’s just like any other disease: you’d hate to admit, but most of the time, you kind of did it to yourself. As much as I do not like the idea of that, I also do not believe that bad news is genetic. I don’t believe that people were born to be an evil villain or knight in shining armor. Most importantly, I don’t believe that someone else made who we are today. You have meanness within your grace. You are tender, behind all the apathetic scoffs. It’s all about choice. I believe every person has the capability of being whatever the fuck they choose to be. It’s like the Butterfly Effect. The ripple on the lake. You do not know what are you doing most of the time and when you realize it; the impact is already too big.

I’ve always thought chronic heroic syndrome is built in someone’s DNA, that I should just accept that we all live up to our names. I think I do live up to my name, and that is a scary thought to have.


	2. Stalling Games

I’ve been to prison more than I’ve been to courthouse. Seven times and once, respectively this year. My personal rule, once you reach courthouse, it’s already an end game. It’s not fun anymore. Unless you change your target into jurors and play a slightly different game but I am not into that. I am more of ‘profiling this monstrous piece of shit’ than ‘choosing the right jurors so my client can get away with murder’. It’s my third semester at college and I finally, _finally, _after countless of creepy and smelly sociopaths, I get the case that I like.

Three weeks ago, I visited a death row inmate, who is sentenced for a 20 years old murder case of his neighbor. For twenty years, he stands with the same words: ‘I am not guilty’. Here’s the crazy part: my _genius _professor took me to see a death row inmate, who would be executed in three weeks, hoping that _I _can figure out why he insists to be innocent. The thing is, I don’t think my professor knows either and just want to mess with me. _Lancaster, sometimes there’s no profile, sometimes people just crazy delusional and antagonistic_—well that is not a wise word from someone who is rejected by BAU and spend his whole life teaching college sophomore.

Even crazier thing, I do believe he is not guilty. There is doubt in his voice, but the infamous phrase is brash. He can singlehandedly free himself out of prison if he tells everything; then again, there’s the doubt. The ripple on the lake. If he chooses to do it, the impact will be bigger. You know what I think? I think he knows the killer and choose to protect that stupid a-hole. However, my skills is limited to reading a person. I can discreet the suspect but then they start to ask _if it’s not him then who is responsible?_ Well, how do I know? Do I look like a cop? That is not the kind of profession I choose to have, by the way. I will never, _ever_, do anything that requires me to carry a firearm. I was basically blessed as an infant baby under my father’s Hippocratic Oath; ‘Do No Harm’ will forever be my curse.

Anyway, long short story, I semi-illegally re-open this case and work my best on one thing only: it cannot be him. Hence the reason why I am sitting outside the courtroom right now even though I never like a courthouse. It’s not exactly empowering—which I think the point of it? To make you feel weak?-. Behind the door, the fate of a 48 years old man is once again, at stake. Either I give him a false hope 72 hours before his execution and guarantee him haunting my ass for the rest of my natural-born life, or he will walk out as a free man.

It turns out to be the latter.

“We won.” His lawyer says. Well, the assistant of his lawyer to be precise. Edward Poins. Let me tell you something about him; I find him far more interesting than his boss. Not because he is outstandingly gorgeous–and believe me, he _is- _but because of the big brain of his. Also, for an intelligent, he does not worry rolling on the mud with me. Edward--Ned, I will call him once we get into a nickname basis- helped me with the case, and set up meetings with his boss’ client when we were not supposed to. If we lost, I would surely get kicked out of college, and he would get fired. But hey, day’s not over.

“We surely did.” I respond quietly. I don’t get myself for not hysterically high five-ing myself by now.

“You know, I’ve wanted to ask you this question,” Ned says again. “Why this case?”

“Same as you, I guess.”

He doesn’t get it. “Me?”

“Representing this kind of guy does absolutely nothing to help you going anywhere on this business.” That is true. It was a good case, and they bet their whole credibility for one more shot on saving their client from death row. “You did it anyway.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He answers. “I met him when I was a student just like you.”

“The difference is, your Professor believed in him, unlike mine.”

I know this case is somehow famous, and what are the odds that even after he graduated from Law School, Ned still works for this case when it means he has to cope with being under senior’s toes for God-know-how-long. Pretty sure he’s leaving the city right away, now that this man is free.

“He’s just trying to help you, Lancaster. If we lost, you’re never going to be a lawyer.”

I find myself scoffing like a jerk, but I can’t help myself. “Who said I want to become a lawyer?”

Ned raises an eyebrow, giving me both judging and concerned look. “So you want to be the other thing?”

“Who said I want to become _that_ either?”

Now he just looks confused. “So what are you going to do with all the information?”

“Write a book.” I lie. Well, not entirely lie, since I honestly do not know what I am going to do once I graduate. I like something stable, I say, like writing a book, but that doesn’t go along with my need. “It’s a wide world, Poins. And there’s no fun on fighting to get someone away from murder.” I add as the courtroom doors open wide.

When I first interviewing criminals, I only wanted to know what triggered them to do harm. I wanted to make a map around the criminal’s head so I know where they will go. I wanted to play the catch-me-if-you-dare game but never this. Never in my life, I thought this path I choose will ever lead me to get the biggest hug from a grown-up man, sobbing all over my shirt, chanting the gratitude because I just release him from the unfair death. But it doesn’t make me feel heroic, because at that moment I realize I just set him up for a different parade. All he wants is a peaceful life and now that the notorious seemingly-a-killer is out of jail and the hunt for the real killer has continued, it’s going to be a wild ride out there for him. After all, we are never going to be free even when we believe we just undid something. Even when it is a sin he wrongly paid for. I don’t think he realizes that by now; why would he? His head is full of hopes refilled into his brain. All he can think about is that he wants to live for as long as he let his body to survive the inevitable end. Meanwhile, I learn something new about myself.

I can stall people’s games.

Also, I scored A+ in Crime Analysis.


	3. I don't have a back up plan

It’s ironic that for the past two weeks, I’ve been spending time here more than I do at my own dorm like a good med student that I obviously am not. Medical school is my least choice—that breaks my father’s heart a little bit, boy, did he low key wished I follow his footsteps-but look at me right now, creeping at Anatomy Chemistry Building hallway, knowing my way like I belong here. I must look like a jerk to these sleepless nerds.

It’s seventeen minutes after eleven p.m. and I enter one of the labs without peeking in. Rude, I know, but at this hour, who cares? Anyway, there is only one guy there, cleaning blood from the table, humming Beastie Boys' Sabotage. I think if he knows the lab next door is empty, he would do a one-man show and sing it out of tune loudly, complete with silly air guitar. I’ve seen how sleep deprivation did well to my brother, he'd done it.

“Shit.” He curses audibly because the door behind me shuts down pretty frantically. I keep forgetting about the door closer mechanism.

“Rude. I brought you drink.” I skip the clumsy apologize and show him two cans of beer.

“I can’t drink beer.” He says. Either because he has after midnight class or a reminder for me that he has absolutely zero alcohol tolerance. I pity him; he’s going to deal with everything sober all the time because drugs is not an option. 

“It’s root beer.” I say, indicating that I am not trying to get him killed by drinking something his body is practically allergic to. He raises his hand up and I toss it.

“How do I know you didn’t put something funny here?” He asks, opening the can like a cautious genius.

“You’re the mad scientist one, Thomas.”

Thomas shrugs, not arguing with that statement, and we have a silent, nice air toast. “And I honestly don’t know what you are.”

“Possible sociopath?”

“No, no, no.” He shakes his head. “That would honestly be John.” Thomas says, referring to our brother, John who just started his very first pre-med semester. Thomas and John are, as you can see, listen to our father and study to become doctors just like him (_real doctors_, Dad emphasized, not like Richard who is a _psychiatrist_). Humphrey is the youngest of all four brothers and he is still in high school, but it is no brainer that he is going to go down the exact same path.

“How’s the court, by the way?”

“We won.”

“How?” He asks mockingly before answering his own question. “Oh right, with the help of my excellent skill, providing you with twisting, shocking, new pieces of evidence.” Show off. “You’re welcome.”

The story on how Thomas Lancaster is involved with this little shenanigan is rather too long for me to explain. The point is that’s how we become closer after some rough years of not-being-that-tight-with-brotherhood. I got my hands on the evidence, but Thomas has access to a lab. It would’ve been better if we get the dead body but the victim was cremated. Not that Thomas would agree to do an autopsy since he has no interest in the forensic career. He thinks it’s gross, and he sees no benefit from cutting a patient who is already cold dead. I think he is just doesn’t want to gamble the risk if one of them turns out to be a zombie.

“Yes, but it also means a new trial, for the new convict.”

Thomas makes this comically sympathetic ‘ouch!’ face. “Not exactly the ramification they expect.”

“They re-open the case and here goes the continuation of a nightmare for the victim’s family.” I almost can hear the commiseration in my voice if it’s not because of the petty sarcasm.

“But you got neat credit from your Professor, did you?”

Yes! ‘A’ flipping plus, Thomas! “Oh, I am leaving this dumpster with honor.” What do you think we are celebrating right now? I do the impossible, Thomas; having an increase in my GPA and not the opposite.

“Is there any evidences you submit that isn’t illegal?”

I almost choke, but if there’s anything my grandfather taught me about fooling a global population, is how to remain calm and in character the whole time. I refuse to respond to that accusation immediately and annoy Thomas with a long, loud sip. He hates that. Good. “Hey, you’re responsible too.” I shrug. “If they come to me, they’ll come to you as well because you’re an accessory to an illegal investigation. We basically stole a delicate and confidential case from the state’s Police Department.”

Thomas laughs, almost hysterical for the first two seconds. “You can’t ruin me, Hal. I’ve been practicing Hippocratic Oath. Nothing will ruin my path.”

“You don’t have back up plan?”

“I don’t have back up plan. Do you have back up plan?”

Good point. “No, I do not.”

“We’re going to go nuts if this isn’t working for us.”

“Not me, I can live forever in the pool house.” Not an option I want to consider, because I will never hear the end of it from our father if I choose to be human trash as an official occupation.

Thomas and I spend the rest of the night talking about stupid dumb things, like the fight between two university mascots last week. It’s actually pretty refreshing to have Thomas attending the same university and also equally sleep-deprived as I am, who isn’t from my class if I may add, because you get to talk about pretty much about anything but stupid student life.

Then my roommate calls. Weird, he usually gets too wasted to stay past eight-thirty.

“What?” I answer. My roommate starts explaining something and it catches me off guard. Not so in-character anymore, I guess.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asks.

I give him the most genuine respond of the day. “I don’t know yet.”

* * *

When I see a black Camaro parked outside my dorm building, I am 95% sure of what’s happening. Sure, Camaro is a pretty common vehicle, it’s not like there’s a Rolls Royce or something tacky like Lamborghini—but I know this particular Camaro. By its license number. I know who owns it, and honestly, I am not surprised to see it wondering on the road after midnight like this.

“He just _walks in_.” That’s all my roommate can say when I come back to our dorm. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up at me like I can save him. He looks like a scared cat and that means bad. Have you actually seen a cat being scared? They’re the most apathetic God’s being on this planet.

“You want to leave, aren’t you?”

He practically jumps when I say it and rush out of the room, mouthing ‘thank you’ as he pats me on my shoulder. Meanwhile, the guy is sitting on my desk, accessing my—holy shit, my computer is on.

“You have shit malware defense on your computer.” He finally says.

“Behave, will you?” I snatch the mouse from him. He’s not resisting. Weird, usually he will tackle me to the ground until I am halfway dead. “What are you doing here, Percy?” I ask.

“Can’t I visit you?”

“You can. Just not in the middle of the night, in my room.”

Quiet. Too quiet. Why isn’t he fighting me back? I am pathetic, desperately trying to keep the conversation going. “How’s everything out there?” I finally ask. Hotspur is few years older than me and he is, like the rest of our family, is working for the big dog in the household. His father thinks so high of him (and to be honest, mine too - of him, not me) so I assume he must've had nice, easy position in the outside world, lubricated by the sweet slippery nepotism.

“I’m trying to hate it.” He grunts. “They’re boring.”

“They can’t be that stupid.”

“Yeah, but they’re not your kind of _smart._” He crooks a smile. God, is that how I look like? I need to stop smiling then, it looks sort of villainous. “I don’t know what are you doing here.” He says again, judging me. “Come on, you’re not going to be a lawyer. Lancasters hate lawyer.”

Well, he has a point, but why is everyone keep saying that? “Who said anything about me wanting to become a lawyer?”

“You’re not going to be the other thing because then John will mock you forever.”

Damn, he is right again. I have nothing against John Gaunt, but he is not the kind of grandpa whose deathbed wish is to have one of his grandsons to follow his dangerous work of line. He is _my_ grandpa who will share embarrassing secrets about his grandsons during one of his seminars so the poor grandsons can gracefully kick themselves out while their dignity hasn’t been ripped out. Knowing that I have no defense, he slowly reaches for my hand and takes the mouse. That’s odd. Hotspur is having a silent victory party by installing new software on my computer.

That’s when I know something’s wrong. Also, it’s obvious; we haven’t seen each other since his graduation and now he comes to me out of nowhere. After midnight. “What is it?”

“My parents arranged a marriage for me.” He tries to make it sound light. That’s not a good sign. Holding your emotions will only make the following episode worse, and it’s just emotionally unhealthy. On top of that, I don’t want him to have hysterical public outburst later. Not because I fear people will think I did something terrible to him, but because Hotspur will definitely do something terrible to me, who is, unfortunately, the closest human being within arms reach during his inevitable tantrums. “Don’t give me that look, I know you already know about it.”

Okay, I admit, I know about the arranged marriage this morning. Phillipa told me, and I was too scared to ask how she even get that kind of information because I really don't want that kind of burden of knowledge. Also, I don’t know how to feel, at this point, about how my tucked-at-all-female-boarding-school sister has every right to keep secrets from me and yet lack of capability to do so. “And?”

"It's Kate."

"I like Kate."

"Well why don't _you _marry Kate?"

"She says the hair is a turn-off and I give up too easily." I point at my long curly hair that I haven't exactly cut for over a year. No reason, really, it just so far from my current priority.

Here's the thing: I know Hotspur long enough to understand that he is anything but me: the black sheep of my family—believe me, some people really credit me as that-. Hotspur is the golden son, and everyone's favorite, despite his well-known infamous temper. People like him because he gets the job done and he doesn't make a scene nor talks more than needed. But as someone who has been pinned under him, quite literally, since as long as I can remember, I think people underestimate how he is always in the brink of snapping. He is not even trying to hide it and yet people dismiss that. I don’t want to be the sappy frenemy/distant cousin who tells him that his father just wants the best for him because I am not an idiot; I am terrible person. And I don’t have enough sentiment in my system to be that ingenuous.

“It can't be that bad.” I comment.

“Easy for you to say. Henry lets you do whatever the fuck you want. Because you can take care of yourself and don't need to be pampered with your parent’s glory and awful parenting skill.” His rants are full with a sharp end at almost every word, contemptuous eye roll, and ends with an exasperating throw-hands-in-the-air and do the jazz with them.

"You and I both know that's not the case."

"Yeah, it's more like he just doesn't know what to do with you anymore."

“I was gonna say, your Dad has better parenting skills than you give him credit for.” I give him a smile. Crooked smile. Not my choice; this guy, I, and my brothers have a long history of violent childhood games, and our faces weren’t safe from any of those. I still can feel my jaw aching when I open my mouth occasionally. “And you don’t hate your job because you don’t want to be a businessman. You like to be rich and powerful. You just hate it because it makes you relatable to your father even when you didn’t want to.”

Instead of beating the shit out of me for saying a dark thing like that, he laughs. “I told you no one outside is your kind of smart.”

Ah, more compliments. This isn’t going to end well for me. His prospect is all clear before he comes here and there is nothing I can do to change that. I never learn. I have to accept and roll with it. “You need something from me.” I say, stating the matter of fact.

He tilts his head and say, “Where is the lie?”

At first, it seems like another game with him that I will regret later. He will drag me into mayhem and cleverly ends it with a big victory. Me and Hotspur, we make awfully amazing partner in crime that I admit; I fix, he cleans. I never regret it. It just like ripple on the lake; when we realize it, we’re already dead.


End file.
